


Just Know You're Not Alone

by ivnwrites



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canonical Character Death, Centaurs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Temporary Character Death, nontraditional life after death, previous mutual UST, unnamed character death (this is the violence)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivnwrites/pseuds/ivnwrites
Summary: "This wasn’t how is was supposed to work. Growing up, he’d heard all the legends about warriors who fell in battle being reborn, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this."After a traumatic fall, Galahad wakes up to find himself thousands of miles away from where he should be, cradled by a man he though was dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlyingRotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingRotten/gifts).



> This story is based on camilleflyingrotten's [amazing art](http://camilleflyingrotten.tumblr.com/post/166332177286/we-can-never-go-back-home), and written with her gracious permision.  
> I have one more chapter planned that will cover how the two of them got into the situation in the picture, so please keep an eye out for it.

This wasn’t how is was supposed to work. Growing up, he’d heard all the legends about warriors who fell in battle being reborn as horses, about the respect they he always owed his mount because there was still a human soul within. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The fight between the Celts and the invading Saxons didn't end with one battle, and the war had raged on. It reignited into full on combat two years after the knights had settled in Britain, and Galahad found himself once again waiting on a sheet of ice for an advancing army to appear. He was returning from a scouting run across the frozen lake when he heard the telltale crack and looked up to Arthur with panic in his eyes. It had seemed safe when he’d set out onto the ice, the spring thaw was near, but there had been no sign of it yet. But thinking of the event’s impossibility didn’t stop the ice from giving way beneath his feet, and he fell into the freezing water with a terrified scream.

Cold clamped around his chest like a vice, stealing his breath away in a rush of mist that puffed in front of his face. His muscles instantly cramped, and it became impossible for him to hold himself up anymore as he clawed at the ice around him. He was already chilled from his solo trip around the lake to listen for the oncoming Saxon army, so the cold seemed to seep into his limbs more easily as he struggled to stay afloat, his arms resting on the ice without enough strength to pull himself free of the water. Someone was yelling for him, and he could see a shape advancing toward him across the ice as someone slid across on their stomach, hands outstretched.

It felt like hours before the sensation came of being dragged out of the water, but by then his vision had gone completely dark, and his head had been resting on the ice without the willpower left to keep him upright. He could only distantly register the feeling of someone - Gawaine? - behind him on a horse as the rocking movement roused him for a flickering moment of awareness. His limbs were blocks of stone from the water that had soaked through his trousers and shirt, and he lay limp and insensate against the person’s chest as consciousness slipped away again.

There was warmth, and the low hum of what might have been voices along with the crackled of a large fire, but Galahad couldn’t drag himself out of the darkness that he had sunk into, still felt as though his own body was made of ice rather than flesh as he let out a shaking breath.

When he finally opened his eyes, Galahad found himself staring forward at blurry trees that cut black outlines against overcast sky, sunlight filtering through the clouds to paint the world in tones of pearl grey. He was resting against a firm surface that seemed to be warmed from the inside as it rose and fell at regular intervals, rocking with breaths. There was a coarser warmth that draped over him, and he could feel the bare skin of his chest as he curled his arms around his ribs. He groaned quietly and shifted, letting his eyes fall closed as he took stock of himself. There was no trace of the bitter, aching cold that had consumed him, only the soft sound of his own breath and that of the person he was laying against.

Arms wrapped around his middle over the blanket, and he felt a grin curl against his temple. “Have you finally decided to wake, pup?” The graveled voice was familiar, but something in his mind was disturbed by it. The sound was one he shouldn’t have been able to hear anymore.

“Tris?” His own voice cracked and wavered as if he hadn’t used it for years.

“Yes, it’s me.” The smile was audible behind the words and Galahad sank further against Tristan’s chest, eyes still closed as he tucked his face into the curve of Tristan’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. He felt safe, cradled like a child, but a memory still nagged at him as he wavered on the edge of sleep.”

“I fell through the ice.” It sounded somewhere between an explanation and a half-forgotten recollection, the memory creeping back into his head in an insidious growth that clawed at the edges of his brain till the grim reality dawned on him. “I - did I die?” He asked softly, voice on the verge of breaking as it shook with the question.

He couldn’t see it, but Tristan frowned as he considered how to answer, his arms tightening around the younger’s waist. “I believe so.” He turned to press his forehead against Galahad’s hair, words brushing past his ear in a rush of breath. “I’m sorry, pup.” Galahad was too exhausted to react further than to let out a choked sigh, his stomach sinking with a dead weight that he didn’t have the strength to move. Tristan felt a drop of liquid curve against his neck and reached up to brush away the tears that had begun to trickle across Galahad’s cheeks before his hand settled over the younger’s collarbone. “Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake.” He listened to the soft groan Galahad let out as he settled again, falling back into the uneasy sleep Tristan had first found him in.

\----------

Galahad was woken by the soft crunch of grass under hooves, eyes opening slowly to see the world turned on its axis. Or rather, he was now laying sideways, still wrapped in the blanket from earlier with his head resting atop a bundle. Movement at the edge of his vision grabbed his attention and he twisted his head to see the hooves he heard earlier.

His gaze traced up the horse’s legs, expecting to see Tristan atop it, but froze in shock at what he saw. “You’re, you’re a …” He trailed off with his mouth still open around his words, unable to find a proper term for what he saw before his eyes.

“I believe the Romans would call me a centaur.” Tristan explained quietly, lowering himself to the ground to sit by Galahad’s head. They didn’t have such creatures in their own myths, so he’d only heard the term in passing when they were in camps, listening idly to the snatches of bedtime stories he could hear. But it seemed their lives now existed within the bounds of those same fairytales.

Galahad’s brows drew together in confusion. “Why did this happen to you?” His eyes flickered as Tristan brushed a hand through his hair, the gesture still comforting even with the man’s unfamiliar form.

“I haven’t been able to figure that out yet,” Tristan answered, a hint of regret underlying his words as his fingers played over Galahad’s scalp. He could think of no significantly easier way to tell him. “but it appears the same thing has happened to you.”

Galahad’s head snapped up in alarm and he struggled to shrug off the blanket wrapped around him as he looked down at himself. His own body terminated near the hips, short dark hair blended over his skin as his limbs trailed down into the legs and trunk of a horse. “What…” He reached up to clutch at Tristan’s wrist, confusion rolling over him in nauseating waves that made his stomach fold over on itself into a knot. His mouth opened and he sputtered half formed questions as he felt arms close around him, too distracted staring down in horror at the place where his legs should have been.

After a few moments, Tristan laid his cheek against the crown of Galahad’s head, cupping a palm along the side of his jaw to turn his gaze away from his newly acquired legs. Tristan shushed him gently, waiting until he felt Galahad begin to relax and sag in his grip. His own awakening had carried the same feeling of shock as he’d looked down at himself. It had taken him weeks to get over the feeling of betrayal that he’d never been told of his particular brand of misfortune. He’d spent time hunting down and interrogating any roman officers he could find, chasing a half-remembered image he’d seen

“Have you seen any of the others?” Galahad asked quietly. The hand wrapped around Tristan’s wrist slacked and dropped down to slide across his back so Galahad’s arm was wrapped around the older man’s waist. After the initial shock, he felt numb, as if he were watching himself while wrapped in a thick winter coat. Tristan’s heart and lungs beneath his ear sounded almost louder than they had before, stronger, and Galahad had no problem matching his own breathing to their pace. “Lancelot? Dagonet?”

The question surprised Tristan, and he shook his head, arm tightening across Galahad’s shoulders. “No. There were a few times, in the first few days, when I thought I saw them at the edge of the horizon, though it may have just been wishful thinking.” He admitted with a sad smile, threading his fingers through Galahad’s curls to tease them straight before letting them spring back. “Otherwise I’ve been alone.”

There was something comforting about the fact that he hadn’t woken up alone. The thought of opening his eyes to see an empty world stretching out around him was chilling, finding his entire body changed without rhyme or reason and being forced to face it on his own would have been almost worse than his fall into the lake. “Until you found me.” He twisted his head to look up at Tristan, the angle making him look younger than his years. “I missed you.”

Tristan smiled brightly at the words, tilting his neck down to press a kiss to Galahad’s forehead. “And I you, pup.” A hand tangled into his hair and Galahad pulled him down firmly, sealing their lips together with a gasp. Tristan waited a moment to see if Galahad would pull away before winding his arm around the younger’s waist to pull him closer.

They broke apart after a long time, and Galahad nosed along the line of Tristan’s jaw with a contented hum, fingers still playing through his hair. He had no intention of moving for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad and Tristan try to return home.

Learning to stand and walk again had been both easier and harder than he’d thought it would be. Control of the extra limbs had come almost without thinking, but it was balancing that had proved to be the most difficult task. He’d clutched tightly to Tristan’s hands at first as he’d pushed up on his front legs, feeling unsteady and wobbly like he’d woken up after a night of drinking. Struggling to his feet, he glanced down at himself and recognized the spread legged stance he had seen before. He looked up at Tristan with a chuckle. “Perhaps you should start calling me ‘colt.’”

Tristan grinned and slid his hand up Galahad’s arm to grasp his shoulder, helping to hold him up as Galahad shifted his feet closer together till he was able to stand upright. He slowly pushed Tristan’s arm away to stand on his own, not quite steady, but upright without crashing to the ground the way he had on his first few attempts. An inordinate wave of pride swept through him at the tiny accomplishment, his face unconsciously lighting up as he looked at his feet.

Galahad lifted his foot to take a step forward and lurched sideways before Tristan caught him, bringing their bodies flush with an arm wrapped around his waist to steady him. After the moment of stunned silence it took for him to regain his footing, Galahad burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all, looking down at his now awkwardly positioned legs only to snicker again. “This used to be so easy.” He pressed his face into Tristan’s shoulder to muffle his laughter, feeling the older man smile against the crown of his head, soft chuckles shaking his chest.

He stayed in the position even after the giggles died down, eyes closed as he breathed evenly, letting himself balance in one place before he tried to move again. It was easier to wait out the disoriented feeling of dizzy weightlessness. His new legs put him higher in the air than he had been before, and he was only just beginning to realize the vertigo it caused. Without a conscious thought, his arms had wrapped securely around Tristan’s waist as his head tucked under the older man’s chin once again.

It been less than a day since he’d woken up in his new body, but Galahad had already lost count of the number of hours he had spent clinging to Tristan. The older man was the one piece of familiarity in a world that he hadn’t imagined he’d see again after the fall through the ice, making Galahad loathe to let him go. “Where are we? The island or the continent.”

“The continent, near the eastern edge of the empire.” Tristan answered. He felt Galahad’s brow’s knit against his jawbone.

The younger man spoke in halting sentences, struggling to find the proper words. “Do you think-have you tried…” He let his breath out in a rush and pulled back to look at Tristan. “Could we go home?”

The question caught Tristan by surprise. Though he’d known for a long time exactly where he was in relation to the steppe, the idea hadn’t occurred to him to look for the place he’d grown up, and he’d been unconsciously avoiding the area. He was afraid of what the reaction would be to his new form, and finding familiar places before had only served to make the whole ordeal agonizingly real. As if before he saw them, it was possible to insist that his transformation was just some sort of terrible dream or delusion. Still, a smile crept across his face as he looked at Galahad’s hopeful expression. “It may take time to find them, but we can try, yes.”

Galahad burst into a peal of surprised laughter, and he pulled Tristan into a jubilant kiss, squeezing his arms around the older man’s waist. He leant away after a few seconds, placing a hand on either of Tristan’s shoulders for balance as he stood back on his own legs. The spinning in his head had slowed as they talked, and he was able to let go without falling this time. He managed to take a wavering step backward and grinned up at Tristan, barely resisting the urge to try running.

———- 

Galahad reached out to tangle his hand with Tristan’s as they crested the hill, squeezing his fingers tightly. The steppe below was dotted with the familiar domes of the yurts he’d grown up in, smoke from midday cooking fires curling up into the sky in long black plumes. The sight filled him with a sense of distant, strange deja vu that yanked at the pit of his stomach, making him feel jittery and nervous even as he stared at what should have been comforting. He was struck by the realization that he’d spent longer as an indentured soldier of Rome than he had with his own family. The gathered dwellings of his youth had become more foreign than the noisy garrisons he had found so difficult to sleep in when he’d first arrived.

He shifted his weight uneasily, flank bumping against Tristan’s. The excitement he’d felt had dissipated into a feeling of cold nervousness that froze him in place. Goosebumps prickled along his skin as a horrible thought occurred to him and he turned to look at Tristan, apprehension furrowing his brow. “What if they think we’re monsters?”

Tristan reached up to brush his palm against Galahad’s cheek with a sad smile. “You aren’t a monster.” He leant forward to pull them together, brushing his nose against Galahad’s cheekbone as his arm settled across the younger man’s shoulders. His skin carried the slight ozone scent of nervous sweat as Tristan held him tightly. “That hasn’t changed.” He waited for Galahad to nod in acknowledgment before pulling back, pressing a kiss to Galahad’s forehead before they separated, leaving their hands still entwined.

They made their way carefully down the slope, moving slowly so they were clearly in view long before they came close enough to be a threat. Galahad’s fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around his palm with each step they took. He felt a slight jerk and looked over to see that Galahad had frozen, staring with an expression of dread at the contingent of men who had appeared at the bottom of the hill. “Hey.” He snapped his fingers to get Galahad’s attention when his voice alone wasn’t enough. “You are not a monster, remember that.” It took a few soft tugs at his arm to get Galahad to continue walking.

“That’s far enough!” The stopped a few meters from the edge of the circled homes, waiting as the men advanced toward them warily, one ahead of the others so he appeared to be their leader. He still wore some remnants of Roman garb, and the wary suspicion with which he regarded them led Galahad to believe that the man must have only recently returned from his time as a soldier, the men behind him appearing much the same. “Who are you?”

To both his own and Tristan’s surprise, Galahad answered first, looking back and forth between his companion and the gathering as he spoke. “My name is Galahad, Tristan and I were taken to Rome,” He paused at the number before he said it, having to check it again to make sure he was right. There had been the interminable fifteen years spent as roman soldiers, then the two he had been in Britain for before his death that seemed to have slipped away like water between his fingers. “over seventeen years ago. We were with Arthur in Britain.”

“We were told that Arthur and his knights were staying on the island,” The leader turned his attention to Tristan, eyes narrowed. “and that you were dead. How did the two of you end up here, looking like…this?”

“I,” Galahad began, gripping Tristan’s hand tighter than before as he tried to find some answer. It really shouldn’t have been shocking that they had found out. As a child, Galahad could remember seeing Roman soldiers arriving at least once during the year to retrieve their newest ‘recruits,’ carrying news along with them. His years in Britain would have been enough for them to come at least twice and deliver the missives Arthur had sent back after the first battle. “We don’t know why this happened or how. We just wanted to come home.” This wasn’t how is was supposed to work. Growing up, they’d all been told the legends about warriors who fell in battle being reborn as horses, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Agonizing silence stretched between the two groups as they regarded each other, hands twitching toward weapons in preparation for a fight. The leader looked back and forth between the two men he’d never seen before and his home, brow furrowed in consternation. Galahad could feel Tristan edging closer to him under the guise of nervous shifting, trying to subtly place himself in front of the younger man as they waited for something to happen.

The leader’s face had set into a mask, his body unnaturally still when he finally spoke. “The two of you need to leave.” It was easy to see the moment the words registered. Galahad seemed to deflate as if he’d been hit in the stomach, hand falling limply from Tristan’s grasp. “We can provide you with food and water, but you cannot stay here.”

“Where else would we go? Please, we aren’t a threat.” Galahad’s voice began to crack under the weight of his desperation, and Tristan reached out to place a hand atop his shoulder in a warning gesture that the younger ignored. “Just let me find-” Galahad stepped forward as he spoke and the leader drew his sword on instinct, the blade swiping close enough to Tristan’s legs that he could feel the air kicked up by its passage.

Tristan reared back in alarm, hand reaching up to grasp for the bow he still kept on his back. The motion was made only as a defensive one, but as he came back down Tristan’s hoof met resistance and a sickening crack echoed across the hills, the slick snap of skin rupturing as the bone below it split.

Galahad watched in wide eyed horror as the closest man crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, blood spurting out to stain the grass around him. Time seemed to slow as he watched the ground turn red in a halo around the man’s head, his eyes fixed ever skyward with a half-fractured expression of surprise. There was a moment of stunned silence before furious shouts rang out and swords were raised to the shrill wavering sound of bowstrings being pulled taught. Galahad seized Tristan’s hand, pulling him backward away from the gathered men as a surge of adrenaline raced through his veins. “Run!” For the first few steps he half dragged Tristan before the man got his feet under him, bolting together until the angry screams were a distant echo behind the hills. Galahad kept glancing back, expecting to hear the snap and whistle of an arrow being let loose to bury into his flesh, but none came.

They arrived at a copse of trees far from the camp and Tristan stopped short, bags falling from his back as his legs collapsed out from under him and he landed heavily on his stomach. “Oh gods.” He pressed his palms over his eyes as a wave of nausea rolled over him.

Galahad turned when he felt Tristan’s hand leave his own and lowered himself to the ground, curling his legs around Tristan’s as he gently pried the older man’s hands away from his face. For a moment Galahad was silent, reaching out to brush away the tears that gathered at the corners of Tristan’s eyes. He never imagined he’d see Tristan cry, almost thinking it impossible before that moment. He could clearly remember the man discussing his kills with a grin on his face, completely cavalier even if he was harmed. After a moment of thought, Galahad realized that all of those had been enemies they’d met on the battlefield. This had been one of their own.

He slipped an arm across Tristan’s chest to clasp a hand around his shoulder as he pressed his cheek against the older man’s head, closing his eyes as he heard words vibrate through his cheekbone. “I’m sorry.” Hands wrapped around his arm and Galahad felt the phrase whispered again in a broken puff of air that brushed over his skin before dissipating out into the open air. “I’m sorry.”

“Tris?”

His hands tightened on Galahad’s arm. “Word will spread.” He choked out, his voice thick with tears. It would take time, given the vast open spaces, but stories always managed to find a way, growing as they did until the simply strange became monstrous and sinister. “We can never go home again.” Galahad’s words rang in his head, the hope in his voice as he’d asked if they could return home. The way his face had lit up with the smile that Tristan hadn’t realized he’d missed till it was directed at him.

Galahad pressed closer, his eyes closing as he felt his feet brush against Tristan’s knee. He knit his brow as he considered his words, stroking his hand over Tristan’s shoulder as he tried to figure out how to parse the thoughts that ran through his head. “It’s alright.” He felt the way Tristan shifted in confusion and pulled back just far enough to bring a hand to his cheek. The older man’s face had a haunted, exhausted look to it that Galahad had only seen the few times when the knights had been forced into battles that were nearly beyond the scope of their abilities.

A quiet smile crossed Galahad’s face and he bent forward to brush his nose against Tristan’s before pressing their lips together in a long kiss, only pulling away by millimeters so he could speak. “You found me. When I’m with you, I’m home.”

[Art by camilleflyingrotten](https://www.instagram.com/flyingrotten/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, this fic was a lot of fun to write, and I want to say thanks again to camilleflyingrotten for letting me write based on her [amazing art](http://camilleflyingrotten.tumblr.com/post/166332177286/we-can-never-go-back-home).  
> Please feel free to come chat with me [on tumblr](ivnwrites.tumblr.com) about anything.


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